Pen and Paper

When my pen touches the paper,
It becomes a beacon for adventure.
Scribbling lines to fill a void
Where my heart once was.
It aims to pick up the pieces
That were before left scrambled.

Tinkling with techniques and
Gently placing words to describe my mind state,
It becomes a task that evokes pleasure
Rather than dissatisfaction.
I place my mind on the page, scraping at ideas,
Pulling upon the paper to find something that best describes me.

The pen acts as a connector,
It stimulates the energy in my fingertips
And works the magic that is itching in my skin.
The paper doesn’t judge,
It doesn’t leave me stranded in a place that requires explanation.
It doesn’t belittle me into thinking I’m not worth it
Or I’m wasting my time being creative.
It remains there. It’s something I can constantly rely on.

So when I feel a need to write away my woes,
When I require a backboard to dabble with my creativity,
Or whether I need it as an instrument to place me back upon the right track,
I’ll grab my pen and place it upon the paper and follow wherever it takes me.